


Just friends

by Darkaja



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 04:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20203537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkaja/pseuds/Darkaja
Summary: “ ‘Just a friend’.” Runaan mocks her, his fingers knocking on the wooden table restlessy. “Last time I heard those words, I found myself related to a Prince, and not even a year later, your mother was pregnant of you.”





	Just friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly/gifts).
  * Inspired by [a delicate balance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258569) by [Jelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly/pseuds/Jelly). 

> Inspired by the future hints released here https://jellyjay.tumblr.com/post/186909247786/jesus-i-crashed-hard-but-anyway-here-are-some

“It’s like I said!” 

“I don’t believe you, Timot. You were just drunken. _Again_.” 

Maver shakes his head and heaves a sigh, mingling his mug on the table. 

It’s quite noisy today at Ahlon’s tavern, mostly because of all the tourists and students from the city’s Magic Academy near the Ocean. There are also several elf-human couples laughing and kissing around, and he can’t help but snort at that. 

And of course, that day it’s up to them to look after that city’s sector. Not the most amazing way to spend a sunny day, but a guard’s duty is still a duty. 

“So,” Maver jeers, taking a sip from the mug with his lips twisted, “you’re telling me that there's a monster at the lighthouse near the reef?” 

“I swear, that place is haunted.” The other guard, Timot, drawls hoarsely. “That damnable creature wanted to eat me alive.” He glues his lips to his beer and drinks franctically, slightly shaking and wide-eyed in terror. “You should’ve been there too. Gods... Those howling and shapes were freakin’ otherwordly.” 

His companion grunts in response. “Yeah, sure. Have I ever told you that my father was a dragon?” 

Ignoring the other’s harsh glare, Maver casts a glance at the entrance, where a girl and a guy had just broke in, their four-fingered hands interwined. 

The latter one wears an armor decorated by draconic patterns, and has a sword hanging at his side, its sheath covered by elven runes, a hand calmly resting on the hilt. 

The girl seems a bit younger than him, with reversed triangular tatoos under her cheeks, a book laced tight by her hip and a red scarf wrapped up around her neck. 

Between alluring looks and smirks, the two of them sit down at a table next to the soldiers. 

The tavern keeper approaches them with a sheet of paper and a pencil in hand. “How may I serve you?” 

Without tearing his grey eyes from the girl in front of him, the elf demands, “An Hearth Cocktail, and-” 

“-a Moonberry cider.” Completes for him the girl with a languid smile. 

The pencil stops scribbling at her words. “Out of curiosity,” the man chimes in, his eyes narrowed, “how old are you?” 

“Er...” The violet of her irises nervously darts between the elf and the tavern keeper. “... _Eighteen_?” She proposes akwardly with a half smile, scratching the base of one of her horns. 

“Really?” He inquires sharky, a frown spreading on his brow. 

Her friend rolls his eyes. “Can’t you let it slip, just for this time?” 

“Boy,” the man tells him off with a glower, “being part of the Dragon Guard doesn’t put you above the law, you should know it.” 

“Now listen to me_, __you_-” He snaps abruptly, before the girl puts her hand on his. 

“I’ll take a normal Moonberry juice and a Moonberry Surprise, then.” She halts him in a hurry, fondly looking at his eyes and firmly grazing his hand. They both wait until the man disappears behind the counter, before she huffs, “maybe in a few more months, Terryn.” 

“Only because it’s you, Sarai.” Mumbles back at her in low tone Terryn, wiggling uncomfortably on his chair. “Otherwise, I’m quite sure that my father’s sunforged blade’d have changed his mind.” 

“Like I really need any help.” Sarai snarks, covering her mouth with the other hand. “But I’ve appreciated it, thanks.” She gently squeezes his hand. 

Meanwhile, as Timot was busy drinking his beer nonstop, Maver’d carefully observed all the scene with a rather irked expression on his face. 

“Speaking of dragons, Timot.” He takes the speech up with his companion. “It seems that the Dragon King will soon show himself up at the Katolian castle. Isn’t King Ezran and Queen Aanya’s direct heir expected to arrive in a couple of weeks?” 

“Indeed.” Upholds the other guard with a burp, while the tavern keeper makes his way to the previous elves with their drinks and the requested dessert. He throws a suspicious look around himself, and then adds grumbling, “Keep this for yourself, but word on the street is he can talk to animals.” 

“_Now_ I’m sure you’re completely drunken, Timot.” Chuckles Maver, taking a short sip from his mug. “That’s wolly impossible.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.” 

Both the soldiers exchange a look and turn to the nearby table, where the girl had just spoken. 

Maver crosses his legs and tilts his head to her direction. “How’d you know that, _elf_ ?” He asked amused. “Is he somehow a relative of yours?” 

“Don’t call her like that.” Terryn chides, eagerly gripping the hilt of his sword and clenching his jaw. 

The soldier scoffs at his bravery, nudging with a foot his companion. “ ‘_That _?’ You mean elf? Why wouldn’t I? Wait, I got it! She’s your girlfriend.” 

The two guards burst into a wild laugh and raise their mugs, but Sarai shakes her head to his Terryn, still shivering in anger, and pushes his drink under his nose. 

“It’s a shame to disappoint you,” she sternly says to them, prodding her Moonberry Surprise with a fork, “but no pointy things here. See?” Her hand tucks a strand of brown hair, exposing a round ear at the dim light of the tavern. 

Timot weakes a hand towards them. “Don’t mind them, Maver, they’re just kids. You know how they act, impulsively and recklessly.” 

“There’s no respect anymore.” Continues the other guard, drinking with angst from his mug. “Ah, if only our superior was still here...” He laid a palm under his chin and looked blankly at the brown and frothy liquid in his mug. 

The two half-elves return to their drinks. Terryn chats heatedly, Sarai rests her hand on her cheek, loudly sucking her Moonberry juice from a straw. 

“Yeah, I remember him. What a great man he was.” Gripes Timot with slumped shoulders. “What was it? Baran, Bernan?” 

The sucking noise instantly interrupts, as well as Terryn’s words, now intent on watching worried at her, angrily tracing a pale rune under the table’s edge with an odd light sparking in her purple irises. 

“_Hey__, __is_ _everything_ _alright _?” He wispers in an anxious voice, shaking vehemently her other hand. “_Forget_ _them__, __it’s_ _not_ _worth__ it!_” 

Maver shrugs, totally unaware of what was going on behind him. “Whatever. He knew how to handle things. He knew how to handle elves, that’all it matters.” He lifts his mug above the table, followed by Timot. “Cheers to General Boran!” 

Both the mugs blow up before they can touch each other, beer and glass splinters flooding the soldier’s heads. 

“What the-” Gapes Maver, wiping the alcohol away from his face. 

“My beer...” Timot bleats. “Now I’ll have to wait for the next wage!” 

Dragged by a not so well choked laughter, Maver turned again to the other table. 

“_You_!” He snarls at the girl, hair dripping beer all around. “You saw who did it?” 

“Me?” Sarai gives him an innocent and outraged look, doing her best to not stare at a facepalming Terryn. “Saw... What?” She scoffs, tracing another rune beneath her table. 

“You know what I mean!” Barks the soldier, no caring for his whimpering friend. “Unless you’re blind, there’s no way you didn’t see the mess that... _That_-” 

Maver swallows and sucks in a long breath. 

His mug is still laying on the table, perfectly intact, waiting only to be dried out. 

“... You were right, Maver.” Croacks Timot with throaty voice, blinking at his own whole mug. “I’m starting to think that I’ve really drunk too much today. Perhaps I should ask for a license and go home.” 

“I-” Maver thoroughly fingers his wiry uniform and hair, before pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut down. “-I’m just tired, I guess.” He muses dazed. “Anyway, what were we talking about?” 

“The Dragon King.” Timot reminds him, cautiosly pushing away his mug like it was going to kill him any moment now. 

“_Don’t__ do __that_ _ever_ _again_.” Murmurs upset at the other table Terryn, approaching to Sarai. 

“_Oh, come on__.”_ She teases playfully with an eye roll._“They __deserved_ _that__!_” 

Maver clears his throat, trying to pull himself together. “Ah, yes. It’s been like twenty years since that beast left his lair. In any case, they say Ezran somehow helped to restore him on his throne. What a strange King he is.” 

“You got that right, Maver.” Gurgles Timot with a nod. “I’ve read about it. Apparently, he traveled around Xadia another weird guy. My brother was among a group of other soldiers with the specific task of retrieving a downed dragon who almost destroyed a city along the border. He saw that guy practicing dark magic. And then I’ve also read they were led by an assassin who- ” 

His voice trails off at the sudden thudding sound coming from the other table, where Sarai had just slammed both her hands on it, propping herself up. 

“He wasn’t a dark mage, and she wasn’t an assassin, you idiot!” The girl growls at him as a matter-of-fact, glaring at the guard. “Moon above, what kind of books you read?” 

“_Sarai..._” Terryn berates her undertone by taking her hand, baffled by her reaction. 

It’s a matter of time, before every single head turns to them and a queer silence falls in the tavern. From the counter, the owner uneasy rounds on them, a plate and a cloth both frozen in his hands. 

Maver pushes back his chair and straightens himself. “You know what?” He asserts with a grimace. “I’ve enough of you, _filthy_ _half-blood _!” 

“This is way too much.” Terryn leaves her hand and draws his sunforged blade in a fluid motion, standing up as well between Sarai and the soldier. “Apologize to her, now!” 

“Leave them to me!” She sulks from the other side of the table, furiosly tracing a glowing blue rune mid-air and spinning a curved blade hidden behind her back with the other hand. 

“H-Hey...” Sputters Timot, stumbling from his chair. “It's forbidden to cast spells around here like that, you need a special permission from the Academy!” 

“You don’t say.” Sarai grins sinisterly at their direction, her sword menacingly pointing forward. “That’s an interesting theory, care to discuss?” 

The rune of Fulminis covers itself by sparks and begins sizzling. 

The two guards, instead, unsafely unsheath their own swords and look afraid at each other, gulping at the same time. 

*** 

“Can we take a small break? _Please_?” 

The hooded figure in front of Soren disregards his entreaty, and silently keeps on striding across the street. 

“What in the name of the all known Gods makes you think she’s here?” Insists Soren, limping behind him in his shiny armor. 

The other wraps himself up in his cloak even more. “She’s been missing since almost a month, and the cottage in the woods is empty.” He mutters quietly. “This is the only place where her mother would never look up her. Besides, I know this from a secure source, and most importantly, I know my great-niece too well.” 

“Then what’s the point of that?” Soren jerks his head to the hood. “It’s not like you really need it anymore nowadays. Or are you scared of showing your face around?” 

“It's just... Discretion, and an old habit of mine.” Shushes him up the hooded figure. “And for your information, I’m never scared.” He dryly goes on a little later. 

“Said the one who was shaking like a leaf when he was freed from a little coin.” Soren nags, earning a glower from the blue eyes under the hood. 

They’d been traveling since a week by now, and there was still no trace of any sort of her. Soren was already pushing his body to its limits, pacing thanks to his sword’s sheath as his companion was asking info to every person with a sheet of paper in hand. 

“You know... That draw made by her father is utterly useless, right?” He gasps, rubbing his sweaty forehead with a palm. “She can disguise herself anytime and anywhere with her tricky hocus-pocus. Hell, she could walk right here, and neither of us would be able to recognize her face.” 

“Alright, then.” Grunts the other, crumpling the paper up and throwing it away. “What you propose? A brief nap?” 

“Now we’re talking.” Soren coaxes by thudding his sheath on the paved road, and catching his breath. “Besides, do I really need to remind you that I’m a poor invalid?” 

The mantled figure rolls his eyes. “ ‘_Invalid_’ “ He parrots. “Why you don’t you just admit you’re too lazy to even looking for a teenager? If you’re so tired, go back to Katolis.” 

“I’m serious, Runaan.” Retorts at him Soren with a harsh look. “Am I wrong, or your arm has gone by a long shot? You need to get some rest as well, or else Tinker will kill me. And I'm sure she's totally fine.” 

The elf lets out a sigh, turning his head to the distant Ocean. He knows that it’s also his faults. After all, he’s the one who had encouraged her to act like that since she was a kid. 

And now a part of him gloats satisfied at that thought, the other curses himself. 

“... Okay.” He comes out unwillingly at last, lowering his hood. “But just one day, got it?” 

Runaan is already heading to the nearest inn, when suddenly finds Soren’s sheath blocking him at his hip’s height. 

He looks up sore at him, who’s nodding at a tavern’s door. There was a small crowd of elves and humans running away from it, yelling something about some kind of sorcery. 

“How about a drink?” Jests Soren. “Just for old time’s sake, I mean.” 

Catching silently the meaning of his sentence, the elf picks up speed towards it, his hand instinctively reaching out the bow hooked to his back.

"She's totally fine, huh?"

*** 

Inside the same tavern time seems to expand, silence broken only by the cracking noise produced by the rune between the soldiers and the half-elves. 

“For the last time, give up!” Bawls Maver. 

Terryn, in response, lifts his enlightened sunforged blade against him. “Stand behind me, Sarai.” 

“How many times do have I to repeat myself? I’m not a damn damsel in distress, stay out of this!” She blurts out resentful, her blade twirling into a hook. 

Before the Dragon Guard could reply at her, an arrow passes through the floating blue rune, and flies across the room, hitting the opposite wall above the counter, just a few inches from the owner’s nose pledged to peek at the fight, who heaves a squeak. 

“All of you, lay down your weapons.” Commands the silver-haired elf from the entrance, followed by a rather panting Soren. 

Maver turns his blade to the unexpected guest. “You dare give me an orders,elf?” 

Slowly nocking the next arrow, Runaan calmly objects, “It’s just a wise tip, human.” 

“You’d better listen to him.” Soren observes wryly, climbing onto a table with a huff. “Trust me, his list includes way higher things than a simple soldier.” 

Casting a tear of sweat out from his eye, Maver glances at him. “You’re a Crownguard.” He avers in a plea, noticing his armor. “Why don’t you join us?” 

“I’m retired. Nothing personal, of course.” Sniggers the ex-soldier, scrubbing the underneath of a fingernail with a short dagger taken from a boot. 

A metallic tinkling echoes in the hushed tavern, and the soldiers eyes first at the sword on the wooden floor, and then at Timot. 

“I’m sorry!” Pleads the latter one with him. “But they don’t pay me enough for this.” He brazenly throws in, reeling away from his former friend to the door. 

“You, _son of_...!” 

“_Ahem_.” Runaan’s theatral cough brings his attention back to his cold blue eyes. “Can you please leave, too? We need some privacy here, and I don’t want to waste another arrow with scum like you.” 

Maver presses his lips tight. “Have I ever mentioned how much I dislike elves?” 

“And have I ever mentioned how much I love moving targets?” Rejoins the said elf, striving the bow’s string at its best. 

Without thinking twice, the soldier darts to the main entrance and trips over Soren’s promptly extended leg. He barely manages to open his mouth, before a second arrow flies next to his ear. 

He leaves the taver with no words left, followed by Soren's scoff.

“What?” Offers Soren from his table, spreading his arms at the mean look thrown by the elf. “Since when an invalid can’t have some fun?” 

Runaan snorts, splitting his bow into two separate blades and put them behind his back. 

“Phew!” Wheezes Terryn, his sunforged blade sheathed again by his side. “I gotta say, Sarai. Your illusions get better and better everyday.” He approaches carefree to the other elf under the pale face of the girl. “I’ve almost fell for this old geez!” He giggles, patting several times with his knuckles on Runaan’s chest. 

“Come again?” The other utters ominously, narrowing his eyes at the hand. 

Terryn bursts into a laugh. “And he can also speak! He seems so real that I_... I-_” 

His tapping slows down at the silence surrounding him, until it completely stops. 

Sarai places and hand on his shoulder, whispering, “Wait for me outside, okay?” 

Pallid and abashed, he merely answer with a nod, before bowing at the supposed-to-be illusion and marching straight away across the door. 

Runaan’s eyes run all over the empty tavern. “So,” he starts slowly, his eyes finally landing on Sarai and sitting at her table, “your father had _spontaneusly_ suggested me I could have found you here. I’d really like to know why my grand-niece -who was supposed to study Ocean magic at the Academy- is doing in this dump, and why a Dragon Guard -who was supposed to protect the Dragon King- is escorting her so much close.” 

“Uncle.” The word comes out from her mouth in a sigh. “he’s just a friend. A childhood one.” 

“ ‘_Just a friend_’.” Runaan mocks her, his fingers knocking on the wooden table restlessy. “Last time I heard those words, I found myself related to a Prince, and not even a year later, your mother was pregnant of you.” 

She waves her hand and the mid-air rune dissolves itself. “I’m not a kid anymore. And you!” She jerks her sword at Soren, still busy at manicuring his nails. “I never expected this from you!” 

Soren furrows an eyebrow. “And miss this little show of yours? You don’t know me so well, all things considering.” Replies the ex-Crownguard amused by looking up at her. 

The tapping sound comes to a halt. “Do you at least fathom that you’ve just put your life in danger?” Snaps Runaan. “Bloody Moon, how can you be so reckless and stubborn?” 

“I had a handle on it!” She pouts at that. “I didn’t need your help, and I’m not scared at all!” 

“You should.” Points out gravelly her uncle. “Fear is the only thing that divides idiots from bolds.” 

“Fine, then.” Sarai crosses her legs and arms. “I’ll go to the Academy. Happy now? Leave me alone.” 

Runaan shooks his head. “Oh, don’t even think about it, I won’t leave you behind. I’ve already done this error with your mother a long time ago. You’ll come with me.” 

“Nope.” 

The elf approaches her by laining on the table. “This is not... Negotiable.” He threatens in low voice. “You. Will. Come. With. Me. _Now_.” 

“Just a simple question, my dear uncle.” Sarai in turn approaches him wih a smirk on her face. “How can I follow you, if _I’m_ _not_ _here_?” 

In a blink of an eye, her figure fades away, leaving a speechless elf staring a blank chair for a good minute.

"Hey," the the tavern owner breaks in behind the counter in anger, "who pays for all this mess?"

“Well, look at that.” Whistles Soren snugly from his table at the elf. “Looks like she got you once more, pal.” 

Runaan strikes the table -or at least tries to-, before he remembers that his arm is just an illusion. 

“_SARAI _!” 

*** 

“What was that?” Quips Terryn outside the tavern at the sudden bellow. “A banther?” 

“Worse.” Mutters Sarai, taking his arm and walking away. “That was the famous ‘_oh-no-__not__-__again_' warcry of my uncle Runaan. We better put some distance, before he realizes that the door is another illusion. He’s still quite fast, despite his age.” 

“Runaan?” Terryn winces. “Wait, _that_ Runaan? The assa-” 

“He’s no longer an assassin.” Sarai cuts him short, peering behind them. “But if you see him hangin’ around with a sort of ribbon, give me a shout.” 

Ignoring Terryn’s dubious face, she brings him at his inn, right beside the coast. The two of them remain there for some seconds, before Terryn decides to take the lead. 

“I was thinking...” He mumbles with a slight flush on his face. “What if we meet again at the same place again? My license expires in two days.” 

“Mmmh, I don’t know.” She taunts, nudging him with an elbow. “Can you imagine the gossip, the scandal? I mean, a Lady like me, with a commoner like you?” 

He breathes a chuckle, taking her hands. “So, it’s a deal, _Lady Sarai _?” 

“More like a date.” Vouches Sarai with a smile. “And by the way, there’ll be a beautiful full Moon tonight. It’d be a pity to stare at it with my illusions at the top of that lighthouse, while you’re busy running away from my poor uncle.” 

“Yeah, a pity indeed.” Mumbles thoughtfully Terryn, quavering at the idea of being chased down by an old invisible Moonshadow elf. 

After a chaste kiss on his cheek and a quick wink, Sarai disappears, leaving him dazed in front of the inn. 

“How long has this been going on?” Marvels a voice behind him. 

Terryn jumps on the spot, facing Soren laid against a nearby fence with a leg. 

“You!” Gawks Terryn. “How did you..” 

“Let’s put it like that,” Soren pushes himself with the foot and limps forward. “I lived surrounded by wizardry since I was a child, and now I’m almost fourty. Maybe I’m not an Archmage, but I’ve learned a few tricks by myself.” 

Terryn lets out a loud sigh. “And now I guess you’ll run to tell everything to my father.” 

“No.” Soren gently ressured him. “I owe a debt to your father, but I’m not a jerk either.” 

Terryn frowns at that. “So... what do you want from me?” 

The ex-Crownguard nods at the inn, and puts an arm above his shoulders. “Just a room for tonight. That grumpy elf still has my money with him, and I’m too tired to find a way to let him escape from that tavern.” He adds with a giggle. 

As they climb the staircases to the main entrance, Soren goofs off, “Seriously though. I was expecting something like that from Sarai, but never from you. Good thing I’m here to bestow my infinite knowledge upon you.” 

Terryn staggers for a second. “W-Where are you getting at?” 

“Ah, blessed youth!” Excaims forlon Soren at the above sky. “Let’s start to talk with this ‘_just friends_’ thing. Shall we?” 


End file.
